The Riddle of Strider
by Mirach
Summary: The verses about Aragorn in Gandalf's letter were written by Bilbo. This is a story about the relationship of the Ranger and the Hobbit, and the events that inspired each of those verses.
1. All that is gold does not glitter

**A/N: **This story was originally published under the title "All that is gold does not glitter" in Teitho. I decided to continue it with the next verses of the riddle though, so that became the title of the first chapter... and I hope I'll get to writing the next chapters soon.

**Summary: **A company of Dwarves and one Hobbit stop in Rivendell on their journey after treasures, and a little boy gets lost. The first meeting of Aragorn and Bilbo. Written for Teitho: First Meetings

**Rating:** K

**Disclaimer: **I am not Tolkien. I am a fan = This is not work for profit. This is fan fiction.

* * *

**1. All that is gold does not glitter**

_Far over the misty mountains cold  
To dungeons deep and caverns old  
We must away ere break of day,  
To seek the pale enchanted gold._

Shadows danced in the Hall of Fire, lights and shadows upon the veil of bluish, sweetly-bitter smoke. Tongues of flames licked the wood in the hearth, and a blinking red eye in the shadows - the embers in the wizard's pipe - lit when he inhaled the strange, heavy smoke of the pipe weed.

The Dwarves sang. Deep and rough were their voices, so unlike the elven choirs that usually sounded here. Their eyes shone as they sang: pale gold glittering in the dark depths of the Lonely Mountain, dragon fire reflecting in the obsidian surface of the Lake under the stars. There were deep forests and distant mountains, the calling of stone, sound of hammer and anvil echoing in the ancient halls once again, old legends about a returning king waiting for fulfilling…

The voices of Dwarves were rich and deep like the hills themselves, and resonated with something earthy, deep in the roots of the world.

Nobody paid attention to the boy, sitting quietly in the corner, his eyes alit with inner fire as he listened to the song.

* * *

"Lord Elrond! Lord Elrond!" an abrupt knock on the door of his study forced the Lord of Rivendell to put down the quill and look up from the letter he was writing.

"Do not tell me the Dwarves again…" he muttered as he went to the door. But instead of Erestor, complaining about smoking in the library, he saw a very worried woman.

"Lady Gilraen! What happened?"

"It's Estel, my lord! I cannot find him since morning!"

Elrond sighed. It was not the first time the adventurous boy hid in the house or decided to explore the valley on his own. "Do not worry, lady Gilraen. I will have the house searched, and send the scouts to look for him in the valley. He couldn't go far."

"No, but what if he fell somewhere, or…"

"Shh, Gilraen…" Elrond interrupted her. "We will find him."

But when the widow of Arathorn left, and he gave the orders to the scouts, he could not hide the shade of worry in his own ageless eyes…

* * *

"Have you found him?"

"No, my lord."

Elrond bit his lip, looking from the window at the sun. It was setting. Soon it would be dark.

"Where is the other group?"

"They…" the scout avoided Elrond's look," …they are searching beneath the waterfalls."

Elrond inhaled sharply, but remained calm on the outside. "What about the tracks?" he asked.

"They end among the stones. The boy is too light to leave any marks there, and there are no tracks leaving…"

The Peredhil lord pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Search further."

The scout bowed and left. Elrond continued pacing in the study.

* * *

"We have found something!"

It was shortly before midnight, and one of the scouts returned.

"Something? What… What should that mean?" Elrond felt his mouth go dry.

"Well… we didn't find the boy, but I think we know where he is."

"Ah so…" Elrond sighed in relief, as he imagined something worse. "So you know where he is? Then why didn't you bring him back?!"

The scout made a step back before his lord's look. "There is… um… one problem…"

* * *

"W-What? No thank you Lobelia, come some other time…" Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit and burglar in the services of Thorin & co., pulled the blanket over his head.

But the knocking on his door only grew more persistent. As he gradually became more awake, he realized that he was not home in the Bag End, but on the quest with the Dwarves, currently staying in the Last Homely House with Elves, from the hospitality of Master Elrond.

Now fully awake, he sat up on the bed. "Come in, come in! Did a dragon attack, or what's going on?"

He expected a Dwarf or even a Wizard, but when the door opened, the light from the hallway revealed lord Elrond himself. Bilbo blinked in surprise and tried to straighten his nightshirt and generally make himself more presentable.

"I am truly sorry to disturb you at this late hour, Master Baggins," the elven lord entered the room and placed the candle he was carrying on the night table.

"That's perfectly fine, Mister Elrond," Bilbo replied with growing curiosity. "I'm at your service and your family's..."

Elrond nodded gravely. "I'm afraid I really have to ask for that service. You see… a boy got lost in the valley. A little Man of ten summers, the son of one Dúnedain lady who's our guest at present. Maybe you have seen him during the dinner…"

Bilbo thought for a moment. Now that Elrond mentioned him, he remembered a young lad, could be fifteen if he were a Hobbit, but the children of the Big Folk grew up more quickly…

"Yes, I have seen him, but I'm afraid I can't help you. Last time I saw him was yesterday evening…" Bilbo looked puzzled about why Elrond is asking exactly him, of all people.

"The scouts have found his tracks," Elrond explained, "but they are leading to a cave, and the entrance is too small for anyone except a child, or…"

"Or a Hobbit…" Bilbo was starting to understand. "You don't have to say more, kind sir. Just give me a moment to get dressed, and I'll be on my way."

"Thank you, master Baggins. Thank you…" Elrond sighed with relief.

Bilbo waited.

"Ah. You want to dress. Of course…" Elrond took the candle and headed out of the room. Then he remembered that the hobbit would need light, and returned it again.

"The boy must be really dear to you…" Bilbo murmured when Elrond left, and hurried with the dressing.

* * *

"Are you sure he went down there?" Bilbo stared at the narrow hole between the rocks. He was suddenly getting afraid for his buttons.

The Elven scout nodded. "The ground is too hard for tracks, but we found them nearby, on the softer ground. One pair of small tracks leading in this direction… and none leaving. Do you wish to see them?"

Bilbo nodded. "No, thank you. Let us not lose any more time," he said, thinking privately that he wouldn't recognize a track if somebody stuck his nose into it. A burglar, indeed… He looked back at the few other Elves with torches that came with them. Master Elrond stood in their light as well, and with him a worried looking woman – must be the boy's mother.

"I'm going there now," he said resolutely, as if only saying the words would be needed to actually make them true. It did not, though, and he tried to hide the trembling of his hand when he reached for the torch the nearest scout has been handing to him. It was a dark hole, especially now during the night, and he did not like it at all, but he forced himself to look professional before all these high people, and step towards it.

"Master Hobbit?" the scout's question stopped him before he could enter it. "Don't you want to take a rope?"

A rope! He should have thought about it… "Do you have one?" he asked, hiding his embarrassment. The scout just nodded, and handed the Hobbit a sling at the end of a long rope. "We will secure you from here," the Elf assured him. "Just pull on the rope thrice, and we will pull you out."

Bilbo nodded at that, feeling somehow better. Armed with the torch and rope, he squeezed himself through the dark opening. He had to bow his head and blow out all air from his lungs to get through, as the first few steps were a mere crevice in the hard rock. Yes, pull in the belly… careful with the buttons… that's it…

The crack made a sharp turn before finally opening into a broader corridor. Phew, no buttons lost. He could not see the light of the torches from outside, nor hear the voices of the Elves. Without the rope, he might believe that they left and he is alone down there. It was an unpleasant feeling – he didn't know what he would do if it were true. But the rope reminded him there are Elves waiting for him outside, and a little boy inside – hopefully.

The ground got steeper after a few steps. Bilbo had to climb down very carefully – find a place for feet, another, hold on to the walls, hold on… no, turn and continue backwards... The torch was a nuisance, as he could only use one hand, but a great help in the same time, as he actually saw where he is going. Without that, he would not find the courage to climb the last few steps of a nearly vertical rock wall, not knowing how high it actually was. Only then did he remember to call the boy's name. Elrond told it to him. What was it? Ah yes, it was an elvish word…

"Estel!" he called.

There was no reply. The boy is probably further down there, he told himself. Maybe he got lost in the corridors; he thought when he saw the fork of the paths. Who knows what a labyrinth lies beneath the rocks of the valley… He chose the right corridor, but after a few steps came to a blind end. That would narrow the options, at least. He returned and took the left one, calling the boy's name again.

This time, he could hear something in reply. "Who are you?" a childish voice asked suspiciously, sounding nearer than Bilbo expected. "Are you a dragon?"

He sighed with relief, and rushed in that direction. "No, I'm not a dragon!" he called on the way. "I'm a Hobbit! Bilbo Baggins at your service!" He held the torch so that the light fell on him, and soon he could see a little figure as well, huddled at the end of the second corridor – there was no labyrinth to talk about after all.

"See, I am no dragon…" Bilbo knelt near the boy. "I came to bring you home. And you must be Estel, right? Are you hurt?"

The boy raised his face to look at him. His cheeks were dirty, with traces of tears, and he was shivering with cold. He started to shake his head, but then he bit his lip and nodded shortly. "I twisted my ankle…"

Bilbo nodded. That explained why the boy could not climb up the way he climbed down. He gave him an evaluating look – the lad did not look too heavy, actually, if he were a Hobbit, his parents would be quite worried that he was too thin. "Don't worry; soon you will be out of here. Just put your hand around my neck." He leaned down so the boy could do that, and then pulled him up carefully. They were approximately the same height.

The boy bit back a cry of pain as he got to his feet.

"Lean on me," Bilbo instructed. "You can lean on me a little more, you know…" he said after a while. "Good. Now let's try to walk, shall we?"

Estel nodded shakily, and made a careful step. Then another. It was a slow progress.

"So… What were you actually doing down here?" Bilbo asked to distract the boy.

"Looking for treasure," Estel replied.

"For treasure? Here?"

"I wanted to go under the Mountain, and find a treasure for my mother. The Dwarves sang about it…"

"Oh…" Bilbo shook his head. "But this is not the Mountain."

"But there _could_ be treasure," Estel insisted. "I just wanted a nice present for her…"

"I see…" Bilbo smiled slightly. "You know what? I do have an idea. Instead of climbing into dark holes, you could bake something for her, what do you think?"

"Bake?" Estel looked at the Hobbit as if he said something absurd. "There is no adventure in baking. Every maid can bake. I wanted to go under the Mountain, and fight a dragon, and win his treasure, and be a returning king..."

That, in turn, made the Hobbit to raise his eyebrows in amazement, that somebody could actually prefer fighting a dragon to a cake. "Well, I guess you can do that when you are older. But you have to eat nicely to gain strength…"

"You think I really can?"

"Um… I'm not sure about the dragon and treasure, as my companions seem to be intent to do that first, and the king under the Mountain you certainly can't be as you are no Dwarf," Bilbo replied honestly, "but I think that when you get strong, you could be some other king, or go under some other mountain if you want. But I've heard some of them are haunted…"

"I'm not afraid of ghosts," the boy said resolutely, hissing slightly as he stepped on the injured ankle. "But what about the treasure?"

"Well…" Bilbo smiled. "Maybe there is some treasure for you as well…"

"Not for me," the boy protested. "I wanted to find some gold for my mother!"

"Ah, yes, you did… But I'm sure it will be a great present for her just to see you again. She has been very afraid for you…"

"Was she?" Estel sounded suddenly unsure. "Are she and _Ad_… lord Elrond angry?"

"Maybe later they will, but now they will be just glad to see you, trust me. That will be the greatest treasure you can give your mother right now."

Estel nodded uncertainly, and looked up in the light of the torch. They were already at the steep rock, and he didn't know how he would climb up.

"Just hold on firmly, can you do that?" Bilbo asked him.

"Yes, I think…" the boy embraced the Hobbit around the neck, and Bilbo pulled the rope three times. Soon strong Elven hands started to pull them up. He let Estel go first through the narrow passage out then. He was able to pass through it much easier than the Hobbit, even doing it just on one foot, keeping his balance by leaning on the walls.

When Bilbo managed to get out of the crevice as well, he could already see Elrond and the Dúnedain lady embracing the boy, who sniffed slightly, but if it was from suppressing tears, or a beginning cold, Bilbo could not tell.

Elrond noticed him as he climbed out and tried to straighten his clothes. The lord of Rivendell stood up immediately and headed to him. "Master Hobbit!"

Bilbo stopped checking his buttons and looked at the Half-Elf, blushing slightly as he could tell from his look what would follow.

"I don't know how to thank you enough…"

"Oh please. No thanks are needed. That's why I'm here after all. A professional burglar, you know… Um…" Stop blabbering Bilbo, before you say something stupid, he told himself. "Maybe you could mention that to Thorin?" Ah well. Too late…

Elrond smiled. "I will mention it to him discreetly. But please," his face got a serious expression, "do not speak about the boy outside of the valley. I will just tell them you helped with one matter of great importance, and I expect the same from you."

Bilbo watched the Half-Elven face intently, his glance sliding to the Dúnedain lady embracing the boy. "He is precious to you, isn't he?" he asked quietly.

Elrond thought for a moment, but then he nodded shortly. "He is… the greatest treasure in this valley to us…"

"Do not worry," Bilbo smiled. "I will not tell that to anyone. Actually, I'm starting to think I would like to have such a boy one day. Doesn't have to be my own, I never like the idea of marriage, but maybe I will adopt one when I get home, if you understand me…"

"Oh yes, I do, Master Baggins," Elrond smiled, and his face was kind like a summer evening. "I do…"


	2. Not all those who wander are lost

**Summary: **The verses about Aragorn in Gandalf's letter were written by Bilbo. This is a story about the relationship of the Ranger and the Hobbit, and the events that inspired each of those verses.

**Rating:** K

**Disclaimer: **I am not Tolkien. I am a fan = This is not work for profit. This is fan fiction.

**Beta:** Cairistiona (thank you x 1000!)

* * *

_**2. Not all those who wander are lost**_

The evening was cold, a late autumn at the very gates of winter. The land at the feet of the Misty Mountains seemed to be empty and dark under the heavy clouds. A merry flicker of fire that could be seen in a small dell seemed almost out of place here. The song that accompanied the fire, on the other hand, somehow strangely fitted the dark and lonely landscape, as it was sung by an old, wistful voice.

_The King beneath the mountains,  
The King of carven stone,  
The lord of silver fountains  
Shall come into his own! _

It used to be a merry song once; that much was clear from the words. It should be sung with a lively melody and good company, a song about a happy future. To the one singing it, though, it was a song about the past, about times gone and friends lost.

_His crown shall be upholden,  
His harp shall be restrung,  
His halls shall echo golden  
To songs of yore re-sung. _

If someone were watching the little dell, he would be greeted by a most unusual sight east of the Shire – an elderly Hobbit sitting on a log and warming his hands above the fire, singing quietly to himself. Not only was the hobbit far from home and its comforts, he also did not seem to mind…

_The woods shall wave on mountains  
And grass beneath the sun;  
His wealth shall flow in fountains  
And the rivers golden run. _

There was a distant look in the Hobbit's eyes as he stared into the flames, as if there was a story unfolding in front of his mind's eye, and he saw not a little bonfire, but dragonfire that burned in a night long ago and far away.

_The streams shall run in gladness,  
The lakes shall shine and burn,  
All sorrow fail and sadness  
At the Mountain-king's return! _

Bilbo Baggins, a former burglar of Thorin Oakenshield's company, sighed as the song ended. This was the end of the adventure. His last journey before settling down. It was the last time he would see the Lonely Mountain and the halls and riches of the Dwarven kingdom. Now Rivendell will be his home, the place to live the rest of his days. Yet there was an empty place in his heart. He wished he could see Thorin as a returning king on the throne of his lost kingdom. But Thorin was dead, and the friendship Bilbo longed for gone with him.

"My pardon, Mister Hobbit…" a voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

Bilbo started. There was a stranger looking down into the dell. One of the Big Folk! He berated himself for getting so lost in thought that he didn't hear him coming, and for being generally not very cautious, assuming that the land between the Misty Mountains and Rivendell was deserted and patrolled by Elves. A Hobbit not hearing a Man's approach! He'd have to use his old age as an excuse for that!

That did not improve his mood at all, nor did the disturbance of his private thoughts. Realizing what kind of people one can encounter in the wilderness nowadays, he put his hand on the hilt of Sting, and only then took a good look at the stranger.

It was just as he suspected – a scoundrel by appearance, in a ragged cloak and muddy boots, grim-faced and unshaven.

"Who are you?" Bilbo asked sharply, pulling Sting out of the sheath a little to show the Man that he was not afraid.

The man stepped back, looking not so much afraid as wanting to give the elderly Hobbit some space. "I apologize for my intrusion," he said in a conciliatory tone. "I've just been alone in the wild for a long time, and when I saw your fire… I hoped for a friendly company. But if it bothers you, I will just leave…"

Bilbo frowned slightly. He did not like the looks of the Man, but he was also a Hobbit known for his hospitality… or, rather, the inability to drive away unexpected guests, he thought to himself, fondly remembering the memorable party of thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard in the Bag End. And there was something in the Man's face… something lonely and resigned. "You did not answer my question," he said cautiously, not letting his hand from the short sword.

"They call me Dúnadan," the man said with a bow of his head.

"A Man of the West?" Bilbo shook his head, looking slightly confused, although not taking his eyes off the Man.

Dúnadan just nodded. "That's who I am."

"And what are you doing here, if I may ask? Did you get lost?"

The Man smiled slightly. "No, I'm not lost. I'm just where I should be."

Bilbo frowned again, not knowing what to think of that answer, nor what to do. He did not want to drive the Man away from his fire, but he did not trust him either.

Dúnadan waited patiently, without moving. Only did his eyes few times wander away from the fire and into the night, as if searching for something, with a strange alertness in the Man's otherwise tired face.

"Very well," finally Bilbo put his hand away from the sword, and made a hesitant but inviting gesture. "You might join me if you want..."

Dúnadan watched him intently for a moment before he opened his mouth to reply. But the reply never came. He frowned suddenly and drew his sword.

Bilbo started and reached for Sting again, but the Man jumped over the fire and was gone into the darkness, leaving a confused Hobbit behind.

Bilbo stood there, his heart pounding. He drew Sting and pointed it in the direction where the Man ran, more instinctively than consciously. For a moment there was silence… then a growl. Clash of metal against metal. In that moment, Bilbo looked down at his blade, and realized it is glowing blue… He let out a Dwarvish curse. Orcs! And there he thought the Battle of Five Armies has decimated them enough for these lands to be safe to travel. Yes, but that was sixty years ago, a little voice in his head reminded him, the voice of a younger Hobbit that left with a Dwarven company. He missed that lad, he really did. The time was passing so quickly!

He was really getting old… and senile – by Mahal's beard and Old Took's horse, there was a fight there, and he was letting his thoughts wander away! That wouldn't happen to young Bilbo, he would… oh damn, again! He gritted his teeth, sheathed Sting, and quickly crept away from the fire, where anyone could spot him easily, and into the dark night under autumn stars.

The grass was wet and cold under his fingers as he carefully progressed to the place from whence the sounds of the fight came. He pressed himself low to the ground, and felt the wetness seeping into his clothes. No sound, no rustling could be heard as he crept closer. He only wished he would have his precious ring, it would be so much easier to be invisible right now…

He saw Dúnadan. It was dark, but his figure was tall among the Orcs, easy to spot even in the heat of battle. There were several dead Orcs on the ground, and still a few of them standing. Bilbo did not know who the Man was, but he knew on whose side he fought in this battle, without any doubt. He approached through the shadows, unnoticed. The Man was doing well so far – another Orc fell dead to the ground. Bilbo had to admire his efficient movements for a moment: it was as if he was seeing Thorin in battle again. That thought give him a new urgency – Thorin died in that battle, despite his skill as a warrior.

Next Orc down, three remaining. Dúnadan retreated a few steps, clearly exhausted. Bilbo grabbed a stone and lifted himself from the ground. He aimed… and with satisfaction he saw one Orc stagger after the stone hit him right in the head – his aim was still true.

Dúnadan used the chance and killed the Orc with one quick thrust. Two still stood against him. One noticed Bilbo.

The Hobbit stood up and drew Sting. He watched the foul creature intently. That he was afraid the Orc would never guess from his posture – he knew how to control his fear. One that has talked to a living dragon had to know that.

Several things happened at once. The Orc attacked. Dúnadan saw it out of the corner of his eyes, understood what was going on. He jumped after the Orc, trying to stop him and protect the Hobbit. Bilbo raised Sting to defend himself from the Orc, but before he could do anything, Dúnadan's sword beheaded the creature with one powerful cut. Bilbo saw it, and saw the other Orc behind Dúnadan, prepared for strike. "Behind you!" he cried out, and jumped.

In the next moment they were all on the ground: him, Dúnadan and the Orc. There was sticky and dark blood on his hands… and Sting was embedded in the Orc's chest. The elven blade no longer shone.

Dúnadan breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath after the exertion. "Master Hobbit…" he panted, "that was… really unexpected… and very brave. Thank you…"

Bilbo blushed, still a bit shaken. He staggered to his feet and looked around, at the Orc corpses. "I think I should thank you," he said quietly. "It seems I got a bit careless with that fire…"

Dúnadan remained lying on the ground, too exhausted from the fight even to move. "Not really…" he said hoarsely. "They were following you… since you crossed the mountains… and since you split with your Dwarven companions… they just waited for a chance to attack…"

"Oh." Bilbo paled slightly. "They wanted to avoid Rivendell and continue directly to the Blue Mountains… er… and how do _you_ know that?"

Dúnadan very slowly rose to a sitting position, hissing a little with the movement. "Easily," he said. "I have been following the Orcs."

Bilbo bit his lip when he heard that hiss. "Oh dear… I totally forgot to ask… Are you injured?"

"No, not really," Dúnadan smiledslightly. "Just a few scratches and bruises… and quite sore muscles. I've been running for most of the day to catch up with them. I saw their and your tracks on this side of the Pass, in the morning."

Bilbo's eyes widened a little. "But that's almost thirty miles!"

Dúnadan finally got to his feet and looked around. He approached the Orc with Sting in his chest, took the blade out and carefully wiped the blood from it. Then he handed it to Bilbo, hilt first. "And I was just in time," he said quietly.

"Oh dear…" Bilbo stammered. "Yes. Yes, you were… But why did you ask to join me at the fire? Why didn't you warn me first?"

Dúnadan shrugged slightly, as if he didn't know the answer to that question himself. "I don't really know why," he said quietly, and looked away, to hide something sad and strangely vulnerable that appeared in his eyes in that moment. "My original plan was actually to wait for them a little further from here, and dispatch them without you ever knowing about them, or about me…" he said slowly. "But then I saw your fire, and heard your song… and I wanted to join you, just for a little moment before they arrived. I miscalculated their pace a little, you see… I thought I still had about an hour before they came."

"You were lonely…" Bilbo translated that feeling he saw in Dúnadan's eyes into soft words.

The Man bit his lip and nodded, barely perceptibly.

"I was feeling a bit lonely tonight as well." Bilbo shrugged, as if saying that there's no shame in it. "I'm really sorry for the cold welcome. One never knows what kind of people one meets in the wilderness, if you get my meaning. No offense."

"None taken," Dúnadan smiled slightly. "I know I look like one of the worse kind one can meet."

"Yes, that's right, I mean no… I mean yes, but... er…" Bilbo blushed. "I mean… one can also meet someone looking fair, who cuts his throat in sleep. It is a pleasant thing to meet someone who maybe looks foul, but turns fair. And I'm really sorry for the welcome, I mean it. Shall we begin again? The fire should be still burning…"

Dúnadan smiled, and this time his eyes did as well, and his face looked much fairer for it. "I would really like that."

"Great. Give me just a moment. I will prepare everything. Then you can come to the fire."

Dúnadan shook his head with amusement, but let the elderly Hobbit go and obediently waited for some time before he followed him.

The sight of a kettle with water, heating over the fire, and the smell of baking potatoes greeted him when he arrived – for the second time – into the little dell. There was also a warm sheet spread on the ground, meant for sitting or lying on. Dúnadan's muscles protested with that short journey – the battle took all his remaining strength after pursuing the Orcs, and he longed to sit down there and warm his cold hands. But still he felt somehow hesitant when he approached the fire, as if afraid of rejection for some reason.

He coughed to get Bilbo's attention, still busy with some preparations, to himself. "My pardon, Mister Hobbit," he said quietly, and somehow humbly. "Would you mind if a weary traveller joined you at your fire?"

"Oh…" Bilbo turned around, and smiled brightly. "Not at all, dear friend! " He bowed. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service!"

Dúnadan smiled, and there was relief visible in his face. He came closer to the fire, and bowed as well. "And I am at your service, Mister Baggins. They call me Dúnadan, but my true name is Aragorn son of Arathorn."


End file.
